


I Love Trash

by yaaurens



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 18:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15540168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaaurens/pseuds/yaaurens
Summary: Steve learns a little about Tony's childhood.





	I Love Trash

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @avelera, @shetlandowl, and @penny_a_word for beta-reading and cheer leading me through this, my first completed work.

When Tony Stark was four years old and had just completed his first working circuit board, he showed it to his father. Without sparing it a glance, Howard dropped it directly into the trash can next to his desk. Hesitantly, the younger Stark reached out to reclaim his work, only to be stopped by his father’s voice.

“That belongs there. Leave it.”

“But I - ”

“No. I’m busy. Come back when you have something to show me that isn’t trash.”

Fighting back the tears he was still learning to hide from his father, Tony crept out of the office. Once in the hallway, he hesitated, uncertain where to turn for comfort. Jarvis rescued the boy.

“Tony? What are you doing out here? I thought you were working on your circuit board to show your father.”

“I was. I did. He threw it in the trash.”

“Oh, Tony.” The butler scooped up the heartbroken child and carried him away from Howard’s office to the kitchen. “I know you worked hard on that and it was important to you.”

With a sniffle, Tony shrugged and said, “It didn’t matter. It was just trash.”

“No, Tony. No. Your father - well. I won’t make excuses for him.” Jarvis set the boy on the counter and ruffled his hair gently. “Someday you’ll find someone else who understands and sees how special you are. Until then, how about we make some cookies?”

With a tiny smile, Tony nodded and surreptitiously wiped his eyes when Jarvis turned to the cupboard.

*

By the time Maria Stark returned from a fundraiser for the New York Public Library half an hour later, Tony had perked up and was talking Jarvis’ ear off about how to improve his project. Maria leaned against the doorframe and smiled softly at the sight of Tony animatedly waving his arms around, sketching his ideas in the air to an amused Jarvis. At Jarvis’ smile and nod, Maria came into the kitchen and swept Tony up in a hug from behind, pressing a kiss to one chubby cheek.

“Good afternoon, little one,” she whispered into his ear.

“Mama!” Tony squeaked happily, wriggling around until he could throw his arms around her. “Mama, Jarvis is making me his cookies!”

“Oh, he is, is he? Were you a particularly good boy today?” Maria looked up to wink conspiratorially at Jarvis, but was surprised to see the somber look on the man’s face.

Tony shrank in on himself and stared at his toes. “Not really, no. I mean, I wasn’t bad! I just. Wasn’t. Good.” His voice trailed off, and Maria could see the brightness of tears clinging to his eyelashes. Concerned, she looked to Jarvis for explanation.

Dusting flour from his hands, Jarvis walked over to join the Starks. “Young master Tony behaved perfectly today. In fact, he was very impressive and finished his circuit board proj-”

“Oh! You finished it! Will you show it to me?” In her excitement to encourage Tony, Maria missed Jarvis trying to wave off her enthusiasm. Tony simply shrank further into himself.

“Unfortunately, there was a… mishap, when Tony showed it to Mr. Stark. We were just discussing how to make it even better next time when you came home,” Jarvis explained.

Maria’s heart dropped. The way Jarvis had said mishap - what had Howard done now? She tightened her hold on Tony and stared up at Jarvis, trying to discern what had happened without saying anything that would upset her son further.

Jarvis’ mouth tightened and he tilted his gaze toward the trash can, but he said nothing.

Maria pulled back to study Tony’s downturned face. “Well,” she said brightly, “Mrs. Van Dyne - you remember Janet’s mother, don’t you, Tony dear? Mrs. Van Dyne told me about something that Janet has been enjoying recently that she thought you might like too. Would you like me to show you, little one?”

Tony shrugged one shoulder, still not meeting his mom’s gaze. Maria stood, lifting Tony as she went. His chubby arms wrapped around her neck and she felt the dampness of his face against her skin, breaking her heart further. Continuing with the same bright tone, she said, “I think it might be a little too juvenile for such a bright young man like yourself, but it’s fun and colourful and you might enjoy figuring out how they make things work.” That comment got her a little bit of a curious twitch, but Tony’s face remained buried against her neck.

With another sad smile for Jarvis, Maria carried Tony out of the kitchen, heading to her sitting room. Once she had Tony settled on the plush sofa, she turned to fiddle with the small television in the corner. “I’m not sure it’s on right now, but let’s - ah, there it is!”

On the screen, a hairy green puppet sat next to a trash can, and in a growly voice, sang, “I have here a sneaker that’s tattered and worn; it’s all full of holes and the laces are worn.”

Tony’s eyes went wide and he leaned forward, his mouth slightly agape as he took in the spectacle of the singing puppet. Maria smiled at the rapt look on her son’s face, happy that she’d successfully found something to distract him from his grief and disappointment. Moving slowly to avoid drawing Tony’s attention, since she knew full well that he would immediately withdraw if he noticed someone else witnessing his deep interest, Maria tucked a fuzzy blanket around Tony’s small form. With any luck, they would be able to hide this from Howard, at least for a few days.

Howard, whose voice was now ringing peremptorily down the hallway, followed by Jarvis’ urgent, softer voice.

“Please, sir, Mrs. Stark is spending some quiet time with him, there’s no need -”

“Maria!” Howard, louder, closer.

Quickly, Maria moved to the door, hoping to prevent Howard from seeing what Tony was watching, but he caught a glimpse as she slipped out, pulling the door closed behind her.

Angrily, Howard growled, “Are you letting that boy watch television? Cartoons? We don’t have time for that. He needs to focus! His circuit board -”

Maria snapped, “Oh, his circuit board that you threw in the garbage? No, Howard, Tony needs a break. He’s not just some science project that you can take out and play with when it suits you. He is our son, he is four years old, and he needs a chance to be a child. Leave him be, just for an hour.”

When Howard huffed and tried to move past her, Maria put a hand to his chest and pushed. “I said no, Howard. Let’s you and I go and sit down and relax together, and afterward you and Tony can do some science together, okay?”

Howard bristled, but faced with his wife’s steel backbone, he acquiesced. “Fine. Just one hour, mind!”

“That’s fine, dear. Meet me out on the patio. Jarvis, some lemonade, I think.”

“Scotch, for me.”

“Lemonade, Jarvis. Mr. Stark can have his Scotch after Tony has gone to bed.”

Howard grumbled, but nodded and started walking. “The patio. Only an hour!”

“I’ll be right there, dear!” Once Howard had turned the corner, Maria turned to Jarvis. “I’ll try to keep him occupied as long as possible. Keep an eye on Tony?”

“Of course, Mrs. Stark. Always.”

Cautiously, Maria opened the door to check on Tony. She was surprised to find him where she’d left him, since he normally tried to hide when Howard started yelling. Instead, she closed the door again, treasuring the sight of her son staring with rapt attention and childlike wonder at the green monster on the screen, singing about how delighted he was to have a broken umbrella and a rusted trombone.

***

When Tony Stark was 44 years old, he finished yet another suit of armor in the workshop of Avengers Tower. He was coming off a relatively short two-day engineering binge, but even that was enough for him not to notice that Steve Rogers had ensconced himself on Tony’s workshop couch with a sketchbook. Steve watched with amusement as Tony hummed to himself and muttered under his breath to both JARVIS and his new creation. His amusement turned to concern though when he realised what Tony was saying.

“Okay, J, that should be it on this rust bucket. Let’s get this hunk o’ junk ready for a test drive.”

Steve frowned as Tony’s commentary continued. “DUM-E, seriously, stop. You are useless. Why are you always in the way? Go sit with your brother in the junk corner until I need you.” Tony gently pushed DUM-E’s claw away from the workbench, pointing the bot toward the corner where U sat wearing the dunce cap.

While it bothered Steve when he heard Tony berating the bots in such a way, he didn’t feel it was his place to say anything; he just showered the bots with more obvious affection to make up for it. To his surprise, they never seemed to respond particularly well to the open praise and affection he gave them. Still, he tried to make up for Tony’s apparent indifference.

Tony, who was now polishing the new armor lovingly. Tony, whose eyes shone with such soft warmth as he hummed and smiled and stroked the cool red metal. Tony, who confused Steve with his ability to switch between a razor sharp tongue and calming gentle words like a light had been turned off. Tony, who could create such wonders yet never seemed to see how amazing they were, no matter how Steve praised him.

Tony, whose voice now interrupted Steve’s thoughts. “OK, JARVIS, you know what time it is. Hit it.”

Uncharacteristically, JARVIS hesitated. “Sir, you do realise that you have-”

“Come on, J, it’s tradition. Do the thing.”

“Very well, sir.”

An upbeat song filtered through the speakers, and Tony began to sing. “Oh, I love trash! Anything dirty or dingy or dusty, anything ragged or rotten or rusty! Yes, I love trash!”

Steve’s jaw dropped as he watched Tony swaying and singing the odd song about garbage. Uncertain what was going on, he spoke up. “Tony?”

Tony froze, voice faltering. After a quick motion to JARVIS to cut off the music, he turned slowly to face Steve, a plastic grin glued to his face. “Hey, Steve, you’re… here. What’s up? When did you get here?”

Steve fought to stop gaping at his clearly uncomfortable friend, but it was a struggle. “I’ve been here for the past two hours. I asked if it was okay for me to sit down here with you and sketch. You said yes,” he added helpfully when Tony seemed dubious.

“Huh. Right. Well. Good. Okay. I’m gonna go upstairs now, should probably eat, definitely sleep, you know, so yeah, I’ll see you later-”

“Tony.” Steve reached out a hand to gently stop Tony’s babbling and associated attempt at fleeing. “Hey. It’s okay, I’m not - I’m not laughing. You don’t need to run away.”

“I’m not running away,” Tony snapped. “There’s nothing - why would you think I was running away? I’m just doing what everyone always tells me to do - getting food and sleep. You’re always after me about that, so you should be happy.”

Steve nodded slowly. “True, and I am, but it’s not like you to abandon a project right before you’ve finished it. You were… in the middle of something. There’s - you don’t need to be embarrassed,” he hastened to add when Tony drew himself up to retort. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I - I thought you might not want me to see. So I spoke up.” He chuckled weakly. “I don’t know if that made things better or worse.”

For a long moment, Tony just stared at Steve, who tried to look both contrite and sincere, even though he was dying of curiosity. Eventually, Tony sighed, dropped his gaze, and shook his head. “It’s fine, Steve. But I would prefer if no one else found out about this.”

Quickly, Steve nodded his agreement, even though Tony wasn’t looking at him. “Of course, no problem. But Tony, if you ever want to talk, or-”

“I don’t.”

“-or sing, then I’d be happy to listen. I liked hearing you sing, even if the lyrics were a bit… odd.” Silently, Steve begged his face not to blush, but he could already feel heat tingeing his cheeks pink. Complimenting his friend for something that wasn’t work-related still made Steve nervous, as though someone might run up to him and yell “Gotcha!” even though Steve wasn’t quite sure what he was afraid these imaginary people would think they were discovering.

Tony cocked his head and squinted at Steve, then pasted on a grin. “Hey, if all you want is singing, all you gotta do is ask, Cap! How about some Right Said Fred? _I’m too sexy for my_ -”

“Tony!”

“You asked for it, Capsicle.”

“I didn’t ask for- for that!” Steve laughed, rolling his eyes, pleased to see that Tony’s smile had turned real. “Honestly though, Tony, I am sorry for interrupting your - tradition, I think you said it was? And I really am happy to listen whenever you -”

“Ugh, back to that again?” Tony cut him off. “Okay, fine, yes, apology accepted, Captain Needa, can we please move on? It was nothing.” Tony turned back to his workbench, hands fussing with random pieces of scrap metal. His shoulders crept towards his ears with tension.

Steve sighed and stood. “Okay, Tony. I’ll just… let you get back to what you were doing.” He crossed the space between the couch and the workbench to stand next to Tony and added hopefully, “Unless you’re still planning on coming up for food and sleep? I found a new pasta recipe you might like.” He let his voice trail off in an invitation.

“Nah, like you said, gotta finish this project before I stop. It won’t be too long, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” Tony’s fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the workbench, but he didn’t look over at Steve. With a disappointed frown, Steve returned to the couch. Throwing glances over his shoulder at Tony, hoping for some kind of reaction, he slowly gathered up his art supplies and hesitantly moved toward the door.

“So, I guess I’ll see you later then?” Steve stalled, trying to think of a reason to stay and find out more about what Tony had been singing.

“Yeah, Steve. Later. After I’m done here.”

With another heavy sigh, Steve reached for the door to leave the workshop.

“Steve, wait.”

Eagerly, Steve looked back at Tony, who was still at his workbench, head hanging, body language tense.

“You’ve got that stubborn golden retriever look on, which means you aren’t gonna drop this, so I guess I’d better just explain and you can get it out of your system, you overgrown puppy.”

Uncertain whether he’d been insulted, Steve replied, “Don’t feel like you have to do me any favours, Tony. If you don’t want to tell me, don’t. Not knowing won’t kill me.”

Tony huffed. “Yeah, but you won’t forget it, will you?”

“Well… no, but I also won’t bring it up. Promise.”

“Look, just - accept this, okay? Let me explain so I don’t have to tell Fury that Captain America exploded from unsatisfied curiosity on my watch.” Tony finally turned enough to shoot a look at Steve. “Sit down, get comfy. This isn’t a long story, but it may take some time to get out.”

Quietly, Steve returned to the couch, waiting patiently for Tony to find the right words. Watching his normally verbose friend struggling to speak, Steve slowly realised just how important this was. It wasn’t just some matter of embarrassment at being caught dancing and singing a silly song. In Steve’s mind, Tony had no shame. Why should this upset him so?

“Okay. So.” Tony paced in front of the couch. From their corner, the bots watched their maker’s agitation, heads swivelling back and forth to keep him in view. Steve had watched Tony pace before, but never had the bots seemed so invested. He looked back at Tony.

“Right. Okay. So when I was a kid, my dad had a favourite place to put my projects when I showed them to him after I finished.”

Steve brightened. From things Tony had said in the past, Howard had never been Tony’s biggest supporter, but if he had a display of Tony’s work, then surely -

“The ol’ circular file on the floor next to his desk.”

\- oh. Steve’s heart sank. What had happened to his old friend to make him treat his son like that?

“Sometimes, he would even look at it before throwing it in the trash.” Tony’s plastic grin returned briefly as he paused in his pacing and sat on the coffee table, knees nearly knocking against Steve’s. “One time my mom found out about it and to distract me, she, uh. She introduced me to Oscar.”

“Oscar?”

“Yeah, he was - is - a character on a TV show for very young kids. Sesame Street.”

Steve nodded. He’d heard of the show, had even been scheduled to appear on it as a guest, but a call for the Avengers to assemble had prevented that. He hadn’t realised how long-running the show was, and didn’t remember an Oscar from his briefing. “I know of the show, but not Oscar. Who is he?”

“Right. Well, Oscar is - Oscar the Grouch is a little green monster who, uh. He lives in a trash can.” Tony rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a knuckle, hiding his face. “Oscar was the first thing I saw on Sesame Street, and he was singing his song.”

“The trash song?”

“'I Love Trash', yeah.” He glanced up at Steve, looking sheepish. Steve had never seen that expression on Tony’s face before, and found that he didn’t much like it.

“How old were you?”

“What?”

“How old were you? When you met Oscar?”

“Uhm. Young, I guess? It was after I built my first circuit board, so… four?” Tony waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. I guess I kind of imprinted on Oscar. I mean, he was someone who cared about the unwanted broken things that other people threw away as trash. He loved them! And there was me, fresh off having Howard throw away all my hard work, and this grumpy green monster was telling me it was okay, at least he loved what I made even if other people thought it was worthless…” Tony’s voice dropped, and he shrugged, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes. “I guess Oscar sort of became my patron saint.”

Steve’s heart ached. It ached for the tiny boy who suffered so much hurt all those years ago, and it ached for the grown man in front of him, who covered his pain with flash and glamour but still clung to what little relief he’d found as a child.

“Geez, Tony.” He hesitantly reached out to touch his friend’s knee. Tony shot upright before Steve’s hand could reach its target.

“Anyway, I know it’s pathetic, so if you could just keep this to yourself-”

“Tony, wait. Can you - can you just sit and listen for a second? Instead of assuming you know what I’m thinking? Please?” Steve gently caught hold of Tony’s wrist before he could run off again. “Tony. Please.”

With a sigh, Tony returned to his spot on the coffee table. His gaze remained glued to his knees, giving Steve a wonderful view of an oddly endearing grease streak in his hair. Steve marshalled his thoughts, knowing that the wrong words now might drive a wedge between them forever. Sure, Tony would remain friendly, but he might never be this open and vulnerable with Steve again. Steve treasured that openness. He could not mess this up.

Carefully, Steve leaned forward, taking Tony’s hands in his own, earning a startled look. “Tony. I don’t think it’s pathetic. I think you were very strong even as a kid to use whatever tools you could to survive a difficult situation. And don’t - don’t downplay it,” he continued, not letting Tony interrupt with a self-deprecating comment. The engineer huffed in response, settling back down from where he’d drawn himself up to interject.

“Can you - and I understand if you don’t want to, I won’t push, really - but can you tell me more about the singing? You told JARVIS it’s a tradition.” Steve squeezed Tony’s hands and gave him what Steve hoped was an encouraging smile.

Tony sighed and chewed on his lower lip, staring down at their entwined hands for a minute before answering. “My mom figured out pretty quickly how much I liked Oscar. As soon as she could, she bought me a tape recording of Oscar’s song. It was a whole compilation of Sesame Street songs, but ‘I Love Trash’ was the only one I listened to. Over and over. Every time Howard trashed another one of my projects. Eventually I wised up and stopped showing him anything I actually cared about.” Tony’s shoulder twitched in a half-shrug, as though his father’s disinterest was unimportant. “So, yeah, it kind of developed into a tradition. I mean, some people may call my work trash, but I’m gonna love it anyway. Especially when it came to the AIs. If others are gonna call them trash, I’m gonna call them trash first and make sure they know I love them because of that. Then anyone else calling them trash can’t hurt them. They can own it. We may all be garbage, but we’re loved anyway. Even if it’s just by a furry green monster.”

Steve nodded slowly. “So really… every time you insult the bots and say you’re going to get rid of them… what you’re really doing is telling them you love them?”

“Yeah. It’s not. I can’t really -” A muscle along Tony’s jaw flexed minutely. “Singing is easier. All of my big projects get christened that way, which is what you saw with the new armor.” Tony shrugged again. “Like I said, it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly, Tony. It’s special and kind of sweet. You’ve kept it up for all these years, this secret thing that you share with your creations, and I think that’s lovely, not pathetic at all.” Steve hesitated. “But, Tony, you do know that your work isn’t really trash, right? It’s amazing.”

Tony mock gasped at Steve. “How dare you! I’ve spent years cultivating my trash garden, and it is absolutely terrible!” He added, “Besides, if you go around telling Dum-E he isn’t trash, he’s going to get very confused.”

Steve chuckled. “I had noticed that the bots don’t really react well to praise, yeah. But then, neither does their creator.”

Tony shrugged. “We know our value. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter. As long as we all have each other, we can be happy in our trash heap. Aunt Peggy used to tell me that, after she found out about Oscar.”

“I remember Peggy saying that about other people’s opinions during the war. Whenever someone gave her a hard time, she always stayed so strong and certain. But I guess I worry that maybe with all the negative ways you talk about yourself and your work - maybe you aren’t as sure of your worth as you claim.”

Tony stared at Steve. “Look, Cap -”

“Steve.”

“- Steve. Steve, look. You’ve seen me with the press, with Stark Industries. If anything, everyone would say I think too much of myself and my work. But then, they can’t argue with the quality of SI products-”

“Tony.” Steve cut off the ramble, unwilling to hear Tony diss himself. “It’s okay. I’ve seen those interviews and I know that’s not you. That’s not how you act when you’re at home, that’s not how you talk when you feel safe. And we don’t - if you don’t want to, we don’t have to talk about this now. I’m always happy to talk with you. But Tony, I just want you to know that Oscar isn’t the only one who loves trash.” With that, Steve smiled and gave Tony’s hands another squeeze before releasing them and sitting back to allow Tony a clear exit path if he decided to bolt.

But Tony didn’t run. He just sat there, studying Steve like he was a particularly complex engineering problem. Finally, he sat back too, rubbing quickly at the bridge of his nose and looking over at the bots, who were still focused intently on the two men.

“Okay.” Tony nodded, then repeated, “Okay. So, uh. Want to learn our theme song?” He kept his eyes glued to the bots, avoiding Steve’s gaze.

With a happy smile, Steve stood, extended a hand to Tony. “Of course, I’m excited to meet the new piece of junk.” He let Tony lead him over to the workbench where the new armor waited, and let Tony’s babbling explanation wash over him. Steve knew they would need to discuss Tony’s disturbing lack of self-worth at some point, but for now at least, Tony was happy, and that made Steve happy.

***

When Tony Stark was 4 years old, he learned that sometimes the people who are supposed to love you aren’t quite capable of it, and you have to take love wherever you can find it, even if it’s from a grouchy monster on TV.

When Tony Stark was 14 years old, fresh-faced and stepping out on his own for the first time at MIT, he learned that people used love as currency, or as a trap, and you can’t really trust when people say they love you, because they probably just want something from you.

When Tony Stark was 24 years old, he learned that sometimes love is complicated and even when you have a bad relationship with someone, their death can still leave a gaping hole in your life years later, and filling it with booze and fake love doesn’t really help, but sometimes, very rarely, a friend’s love like Rhodey’s could keep you afloat for a time.

When Tony Stark was 34 years old, although he’d pretty much given up on “true love,” he learned that he could still love the family he’d gathered and created, humans and bots and AIs, and sometimes there were people who would love you unconditionally, even when you really do act like trash and start buying into your own ridiculous bullshit.

When Tony Stark was 44 years old, watching Steve Rogers happily sing “I Love Trash” to DUM-E and U and JARVIS, he learned that there might be room in his heart for a different kind of love than what he felt for his family and friends, and maybe (just maybe) Tony could trust Steve not to be like all the many people who had claimed to feel that kind of love for Tony in his past and Steve would fulfill Jarvis’ words from so long ago.

After all, he loved trash too.


End file.
